Silver Night
by Alialka
Summary: After hot days, the cool light of the moon is the only witness of quiet, hot nights. Somehwere post AC. A Cloud/Tifa one :


The night's air was heavy and unmoving, speckles of dust setting lazily on the polished surfaces of the tables and the counter. Wooden floors and walls seemed to radiate with the warmth of the day that has gone to pass. The scent of alcohol and smoke lingered in the tiniest bit in the large room, not too unpleasant, yet noticeable. Silver threads of moonlight danced inside, making the place seem only a little bit unearthly.

There were four inhabitants of the quiet wooden house. There was the boy with eyes both bright and sad, with soft curls that oh so often fell into those green-blue orbs. He was deep in his sleep now, his mind buried by the sand of dreams, dreams that finally were free of pain and feverish illusions. Right with him, in the very same room, now slept a girl. A soft lock of brown hair resting gently on her smooth cheek, heavy lids hiding brown eyes from the night's silver glow. A brother with his sister, bound not by blood, but sharing a bond that seemed much more stronger than that. Their even, slow breaths disturbed the stillness of their bedroom, coming in the form of soft gasps from both gently parted lips.  
There stood a man, right there in the doorway, one arm casually resting on the wooden frame. He brought a disturbance with him, one that smelled of the vast desert and sand and the cleanings rains from the other side of the continent. His eyes softened as he watched the children sleep, the intense unnatural green of his orbs giving way to the long forgotten blue hue. The man , if only in his early twenties, stood there for a longer moment, making sure not one breath skipped it's relaxed rhythm, not one whimper came pass plush lips of the young ones.  
He moved only at the feeling of human warmth at his back. A warmth of a body soft and hard in the same time, bruised and marred with scars almost in the same extent as his. A body of a woman who held everything in her hands, who's merlot eyes never ceased to glow, even in the still dimness of the night. Her faint fragrance of dried lilacs, rum and dusted sunlight wrapped itself around his mind and heart, leaving a yet another imprint of her.

He only needed the light brush of her fingers against his wrist. The door of the vast bedroom closed gently, without as much as a creek and a soft click when the heavy lock fell into its place. Both walking quietly, softly, with only their clothes rustling gently. Not even sharing one word her fingers worked on the fastenings on the shoulder plate, as his unbuckled the many belts and straps. He saw her eyes dim even more as her digits traced the wolf's sharp outlines, carefully, maybe a bit brokenly.. still lovingly, as the moon's rays flickered on the same design carved in metal that adorned her finger.

They knew this by hearts already. Without haste, without hurry they'd take care of his clothes. Freeing his imperfect body from leather , linen and heavy thick wool. With no words spilling from closed lips, not even a soft hum or a mutter. In the sound of children's sleep and their tired breaths, lean fingers aided the sturdy, calloused ones in their task. Red eyes wandering over every scar and bruise, as more and more of his hardened skin appeared from the many layers of clothing.

It was long ago, way back, when he first reached out for her to accompany him in this task that ended their day. It was long ago when he tried to redeem himself for the third and last time. Not in the eyes that were the color of the crystal blue skies, nor the ones that shone with an emerald fire. In hers. In those orbs that saddened, and died as she traced each single scar with the hand. Her silence never disturbed him, only during that night. Her hands cool on his skin, her fingers long and slim, yet the tissue there only slightly harder that he remembered. Her knuckles and digits bled far too many times to remain soft and unchanged. And he wouldn't have them any other way. That was the night when for the first time her ever felt her lips on his skin. With the smaller palms pressed to the old scar in the middle of his chest, she placed a desperate kiss onto his last one. And his shoulder burned even more than the time when that cursed blade sunk deeply into it. Later on his eyes lost their glow as they rested on the scarred skin that marred her abdomen.

He always took off her earrings first. It allowed her hair to brush against his hands as he did so, the long strands fluid in their gentle movements. Her eyes never left his ,as they concentrated on whatever he was doing at the moment. Watching silently, waiting, as always waiting for him. His fingers, rough and tender, reached for the silver slider. With a gentle tug, slowly pulling it down, he listened to her breath not once faltering, to the zipper slowly moving apart, to the slightly unsteady beat of his own heart.

Tiny specks of dust dancer around them as piece by piece their clothing found its way to the warm floor. Silver rays fell through the opened window along with the soft, soft whispers of night's air. It danced on the worn out leather, on the pale and slightly darker skin. Illuminated long brown tresses and highlighted the golden spikes.

It wasn't it his words. He never was good with those, not being able to tell out straight what his confused mind was on about. It wasn't even in his touches, with fingers greedily memorizing every inch of the softer flesh.

It wasn't in her words. She was fairly better, yet being the pillar everyone leaned on made her forget the most simple phrases of all. It wasn't in her doings, even if she was the one that said once that words aren't the only way …

It was in the way her breath washed over his ear. The warm, moist exhale that tickled gently.

It was in the way his fingers wrote his name on her skin, sealing the once forgotten promise.

It was in the slight shine of the droplets of sweat that whispered more than her lips ever could.

It was in the taste of his tears that hit her face, as his golden strands slipped through her hands.

Quietly, ever so quietly, weaving promises of new, maybe not happier ,maybe not easier, but of a New. Weaving them between two bodies, perfect in their imperfection. Long since those bodies were considered only a sword and a shield.

The moon continued its silvery march on the jet black sky, leaving only sparkling stars behind him. Only it's rays witnessing the soft whisper of a short name, of blue eyes blazing as they drowned in the glowing hue of crimson. Only it's glow hearing the unsaid words.

His lips pressed to the back of her neck. His hands holding tightly to the soft, warm body. He felt their breaths come out shorter, heavier. Disturbing the sweet silence of the night. He felt her muscles slowly go limp, relaxed in the strange comatose state they found themselves in. Her hands holding his, her lips gently brushing against his knuckles.

Finding peace in the moon's embrace, watching as the dust settled in and the Sandman finally claiming their minds. Finding a place where not a piece of them was lost.


End file.
